


i'm that second you can't let go

by mckayla (steveromanov)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Wedding Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveromanov/pseuds/mckayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, it’s bad luck to wear red at a wedding,” he said, voice low despite the playful smile on his face. He tugged on the curl again as if to make his point, and Natasha rolled her eyes.</p><p>“I don’t think what we just did qualifies as bad luck, do you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm that second you can't let go

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't consider this particularly fluffy, so I didn't put it in the series. Also it's more smutty than my other smut fics; I've been trying to prolong my sex scenes a bit more. Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Title taken from the song "Come Together" by Laurel (feat. Sivu).

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly classy, but it also wasn’t the trashiest thing Natasha had ever done in her life. She’d been subjected through many different situations because of her job; had been forced to do many things she wasn’t proud of in the name of the mission, before SHIELD and after. But this…this was all on her, entirely her decision. Well, and Steve’s. There was no handler commanding her every move, no parameters that were making her act a certain way. This was all  _their_ choice, and if they got caught, they’d have to live up to it.

They were having sex at a wedding. Tony and Pepper’s wedding, to be exact.

Really, Natasha never really meant for it to happen. She and Steve had sex on a  _seriously_ frequent basis, but the both of them usually knew how to reel their desire for one another in.  _Usually_. Apparently tonight was an exception, because halfway through the wedding reception the two of them were slinking out of the ballroom and into a large, lockable (thankfully) bathroom, unable to keep their hands off of each other unless it was to tug off clothes. In fact that’s where they were now; Natasha lifted on to the bathroom’s counter with her bridesmaid dress—don’t ask her how she and Steve managed to sneak off, being a part of the wedding and all—bunched around her thighs and her hands buried in his neatly combed hair. They’d fix it later. They’d fix his tux later, too, since it was now wrinkled and untucked. Hopefully nobody would notice these things when they returned to the ballroom, though Natasha was counting on Clint immediately linking their disappearance and the ruffling of their clothes together. Laura would rein him in if he was stupid enough to outwardly call her and Steve out on having sex at their friends’ wedding—which Natasha definitely knew he was—so the redhead wasn’t all  _that_ worried.

Especially since she was too busy moaning and gasping, raking her fingers down Steve’s scalp as he kissed and sucked and nipped her neck and along her collarbone. When they had first started dating (or, rather, when they first had sex), Steve was pretty inexperienced. Not  _hopeless_ , because he was an eager learner and she was more than happy to teach him, but just inexperienced. Now, though, he was practically a guru. He knew all of Natasha’s weak points, all of her sensitive spots, and he didn’t leave any of them untouched. He wasn’t afraid to bite, lick, or suck; poke, prod, or rub. She  _liked_ that about him, too. The guy was bold. He wasn’t timid or shy, at least not after the first couple of times they slept together, and he was an attentive lover. Basically, Steve Rogers was one of the few men nowadays who enjoyed giving more than receiving (in bed and in other circumstances), and Natasha had lucked out.

Definitely,  _definitely_ lucked out.

“We have time for more than just a quickie?” Steve huffed against her clavicle, and Natasha pulled on his ears until he lifted his head so that she could kiss him on the lips. He hungrily kissed her back, and she voiced her answer as best as she could without breaking contact with his mouth for too long.

“No one noticed when we snuck off during movie night,” she replied between kisses, gasping a little at the end as Steve nibbled on her bottom lip. “Or Sam’s birthday party. Or that fundraiser. Or that time—”

Natasha stopped listing off their numerous secret trysts when Steve chuckled against her mouth. “Okay, I get your point.” He kissed her again with renewed passion, cupping one of his large hands around her jawbone and brushing the other over the top of her concealed thigh. His fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and she moaned against his mouth, desperate for more contact. She was tempted to guide his hand between her legs, but she knew that it wouldn’t work. If Steve was going to touch her, he would have already. He had plans.

She became privy to these plans when he leaned her against the large mirror on the wall behind her and hooked his hands under her legs, tugging her forward on the countertop. Natasha bit her lip and resisted an anticipatory hum as Steve lowered to his knees—it was the kind of bathroom that had a carpeted waiting room—and pulled off her underwear. He stared up at her with darkened azure eyes, his arousal evident.  _Her_ arousal was evident, too; she was so soaked that she was pretty sure he could smell the pure want—no,  _need_  that she was emitting. Steve hooked her legs over his shoulders and finally took his eyes off of hers in favor of focusing on the creamy skin surrounding her core. He planted wet kisses to the two sensitive spots on both of her inner thighs that he knew made her writhe and hum in pleasure; teased at her entrance to make her squirm some more but not with enough pressure or contact to relieve any of the heavy desire gnawing at her gut. Impatient, Natasha clenched her thighs around his hand, staring down at him with flushed cheeks and her lip caught between her teeth. She nearly smacked him on the side of his head when all he did was grin like the smug bastard she knew he secretly was, but then he was answering her unvoiced wishes and parting her with his thumbs, lowering his head and finally flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue.

“ _Oh_ ,” Natasha quietly sighed, eyes fluttering shut as Steve’s tongue became a tad more persistent. Just a tad, but it was enough for now. When she recovered enough to lift her head and gaze at him with darkened eyes, Steve sunk a finger inside of her, and then another. Her mouth limply fell open in a soundless pant. “Oh, yes— _god_.” Her body briefly went rigid as Steve curled his fingers against a particularly sensitive spot at the same time as he sucked firmly on her clit. Natasha prickled her nails against his scalp, pulling his face closer into her, and Steve let out a low groan that sent vibrations of pure pleasure thrumming throughout her body. He punctuated the groan with a slick slide of his fingers, a pump in and out, and Natasha pressed her thighs against the sides of his face. “ _Again_.” 

He obliged. She vaguely registered that he was moving his arm, although not against her and somewhere beneath the counter where she couldn’t see, presumably freeing himself from the confinement of his tuxedo pants. He groaned against her again, twisting and curling his fingers and sucking at her clit with no restrain whatsoever. Natasha was positively losing her mind. She had the heel of her stiletto dug into his shoulder blade, though he wasn’t complaining about any pain, and she was tugging at one of his ears with the hand that wasn’t gripping the edge of the counter. Natasha barely contained a squeal as Steve’s fingers found a new, more profound spot inside of her. She twitched on the polished marble surface. “ _Yes_ , Steve, right— _fuck_ —there.” She was close. Steve, sensing this, hunkered down; burying his face even further against her folds and holding Natasha’s hips down when she started to restlessly squirm. “ _More_ ,” Steve obeyed. “Oh, Steve. Yes, yes— _Steve_!” Natasha’s voice went high-pitched, the natural rasp almost entirely hidden by the pitch of her moans. Steve kept his tongue pressed flat against her, not even relenting when Natasha wrapped her thighs tight around his skull—not different from the way she usually took down her foes in the battlefield, he noted—and twisted her upper body from side to side as she rode out her orgasm. He held his ground, breathing like a bellows out of his nose as he kept his lips crowned around her clit, and only moved away when Natasha huffed out a whimper and shoved him away, his mouth on her suddenly too much. He wiped her juices from his face and leaned back on his haunches, waiting for Natasha to catch her breath.

“ _Idiot_ ,” she panted, struggling to keep her eyes open wide enough to effectively roll them.

Steve frowned. “What? What’d I do?”

“You just wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your _tuxedo_ ,” Natasha said, and he widened his eyes as he inspected the damp spot on the black sleeve of his jacket. She laughed breathlessly at his expression, shaking her head as she rested it against the mirror. “You know, for Captain America, sometimes you can be pretty clueless.”

He chuckled, rising to his feet and leaning forward to give her a slow kiss. “I don’t think you should say that to the guy that just gave you a mind-blowing orgasm.”

Natasha scoffed against his lips. “Smug, aren’t you?” He gave a hum of agreement as they continued kissing. “For all you know, I could have been faking.”

“I don’t know. You sounded pretty genuine to me,” Steve was speeding things up again, his hands groping and caressing her thighs and hips and breasts. She could feel his length pressed up against her leg, and she teasingly rubbed against it in order to draw a growl from between his lips. Steve’s grip on her tightened, and she smiled.

“’Pretty genuine’ can be pretty easy to fake,” she replied, moving to kiss his jaw. It was his turn to scoff now and she hummed, grinning. “Alright. So it was pretty mind-blowing.”

Steve groaned as Natasha sucked a bruise on his clavicle, low enough that his collar would cover it when they were both finished and dressed up again. She slid her hand down the front of his tux, stopping below his red— _Iron Man symbolic_ , Tony had declared—cummerbund and grazing his half-exposed bulge with her fingers. She waited until his grip on her loosened again until she slipped her hand between the open fly of his pants and wrapped her hand firmly around his cock, pumping once before pulling it completely out. Steve rested his head against her shoulder, breathing a bit heavily as Natasha stroked him to his full length—as if he hadn’t already been brought to it by watching her come so beautifully undone moments before. She squeezed a little, gasping as he lightly bit down on her shoulder, which had been left bare by her strapless dress. Steve moved his face to her neck, groaning against her skin as she pumped her fist on his cock. Soon, though, her hand proved to be too much—or not enough—and Steve took over, positioning himself at her entrance and slowly sinking in as she clutched at his shoulders and let out a shaky sigh. 

“Shit,” Steve groaned in the crook of her neck. “God, you feel so good.”

Natasha bit her lip, eyes closed. “Likewise,” she sighed. He stayed there for a moment, unmoving and breathing hard. She arched an eyebrow. “You gonna st— _oh, fuck_.” Natasha’s head tipped back and her mouth fell open in a moan as Steve thrust forward, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his tux covering his shoulder blades, wishing she could feel his muscles work beneath her hands but deciding that she wasn’t exactly in the position to be complaining. Steve thrust again, pushing her into the countertop with all his weight, but Natasha didn’t mind. Instead she lifted and hooked her legs around his waist to provide him deeper access, which he gladly took. She cried out as Steve pounded into her, but she rocked her hips back against him with just as much vigor, and soon they were rutting and clawing at one another with such strength and prowess that they were moving no differently than when they fought together side-by-side. They moved in sync; quick and commanding but also skilled and precise, though unlike in battles, Steve was now slowly starting to lose control. Natasha clung to him, whispering encouragement in his ear, moaning his name and tugging his hair until he slammed his hips against hers and didn’t pull back, going stiff against her body as his cock twitched and emptied inside of her.

Waiting out his throaty grunts and heavy pants, Natasha pressed her lips to Steve’s temple before trailing a slow line of kisses down the side of his face and to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head and captured her lips between his, kissing her leisurely for a moment before Natasha smirked and asked, “You done already?”

“I’m not a one and done type of guy,” he responded, and Natasha laughed and smacked him on the arm in reply. In another answer to her question, Steve flexed his hips against hers, shifting his hard-again cock inside of her and making her breath catch in her throat.

Natasha curled her toes against the inside of her heels and moaned through a grin. “Super-serums. Gotta love 'em.”

Steve spared a brief moment for a chuckle before he rocked against her once again, and then some more. He knew that they would only have enough time for this one last round before people _really_ started to get suspicious (people noticed the disappearance of Captain America, unfortunately), and though he really didn’t want to embarrass Tony and Pepper at their own wedding, the way that Natasha was whimpering and moaning in broken strings of Russian was far more addicting than usual. It wasn’t uncommon that Natasha resulted to her native language when she was lost in pleasure, but Steve never got tired of hearing the husky drawl of her voice, the slur of her words that sounded remarkably different than when they were slurred because she was drunk. Wanting to hear her voice some more, Steve slipped his hand between them and found her clit with his fingers, relishing in the way she instinctively sunk her teeth into the shoulder of his tux. It was hard enough that he felt it through his jacket and dress shirt, and the dull pinch made him growl and increase the pressure he was touching her at. Natasha loudly gasped, going rigid against the front of his body and holding him incredibly close, as if he wasn’t already pressed up against her as much as was coherently possible. 

Still, he didn’t stop. He kept his fingers moving, kept pumping in and out, all the while holding Natasha taut in the arm that wasn’t buried between their bodies. Her orgasm still rippling through her body, Natasha clutched tightly at the lapels of Steve’s tux jacket and moaned into his shirt, a shaky string of “ah—ah— _ah_ ” seeping into his clothes as he slowly stopped moving his hips but maintained the stroking of his fingers. “Steve, Steve,” Natasha sobbed, shivering wholeheartedly as a second orgasm swept over her. Steve finally dropped his hand, afraid that he might start causing her discomfort if he kept his fingers on her any longer, but he didn’t have to worry for long because soon Natasha clenched her walls around him and dug her nails into the nape of his neck, and it was all Steve could do not to break off a piece of the counter in the midst of his own climax.

“God, _Tasha_.” He grunted, pressing his fingertips hard into the marble in order to prevent accidentally bruising her. Natasha gasped again, this time more weakly, and Steve tried his best not to cause her any more overstimulation as he shivered and spilled inside her once again. When he was done he stood there for a moment, resting his head on her shoulder as they both panted for air, and it wasn’t until at least a whole minute later that he finally recovered enough strength to lift his head and pull out of her.

Natasha whimpered at the loss, but she was too sated to do anything to keep him close, and instead watched as he snagged a towel, wiped himself clean, and zipped up the fly to his tuxedo with a rather droopy, if not smug smirk on his face. Despite herself, Natasha wanted to kiss it, but he was too far and she couldn’t really muster up the strength to support her own weight without the mirror’s help. Thankfully, Steve seemed to read her mind. He stepped forward, leaning down and capturing her lips in a slow, gentle kiss that still had her feeling a little dizzy in spite of everything. Natasha hummed as Steve pulled away, although only enough so that they could both breathe as he took one of her red curls—which had been _actually_ curled with an iron for the evening—and twisted it around his finger, tugging experimentally.

“You know, it’s bad luck to wear red at a wedding,” he said, voice low despite the playful smile on his face. He tugged on the curl again as if to make his point, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think what we just did qualifies as bad luck, do you?”

Steve chuckled. “I guess not.”

“But if it did, it’d be the best bout of bad luck I ever received in my life.” She murmured, brushing his bottom lip with her thumb. His signature boyish smile appeared on his lips and Natasha kissed him again. “Now, I think we should clean up and go before people start to ask questions.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” Steve replied, offering a hand out to help her step down from the counter, which she gladly took. They spent the next few moments in relative silence as they fixed their hair and straightened their clothing, and by the time they were preparing to exit the bathroom, Natasha had to admit that they mostly looked exactly the same as when they entered.

That was when, as she followed Steve down the corridor, she saw the distinctive claw marks starting at the nape of his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his tux. Natasha sported a smug grin, deciding that there was no point in trying to hide the marks now that they were there and in the open, and she stifled a laugh.

She apparently hadn’t been all that sufficient, because Steve turned his head and regarded her with a raised eyebrow as they walked. “What?”

Natasha sighed, slipping her hand in his. “Oh, nothing.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later and Natasha and Steve were sitting side-by-side at the wedding party’s table, listening to toasts and speeches dedicated to the bride and groom. One man that Pepper invited because he was a Stark Industries employee whom apparently had been very kind to her over the years was currently in the midst of a rather lengthy toast, so much so that the CEO herself was starting to lose interest, which was exactly why she nudged Natasha with her elbow a few moments later, leaning over to whisper in the redhead’s ear.

“What happened to Steve? Tony didn’t say anything about the team going up against any goons with claws as of late. I’m sure I would have heard endless werewolf jokes if you guys did.”

Natasha flicked her eyes over to the scratches on Steve’s neck, smirking to herself. Before she could answer, though, another whisper sounded—this one much more exasperated and _definitely_ not belonging to Pepper.

“Those are fresh. Jesus, you two. At our _wedding_?” Tony said, barely managing to keep his voice quiet. The employee was still giving his speech, so no one really noticed that the groom was currently glaring at Black Widow and Captain America as if they’d just grown a new pair of respective heads. Steve immediately blushed, his hand defensively rubbing the back of his neck in an effort to conceal the marks as Tony stared at them, while Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs at the knee, and smirked in satisfaction as she watched the employee ramble about into the microphone. Tony shook his head. “Unbelievable. Both of you.”

Pepper, on the other hand, seemed to find it rather amusing. “Please, Tony. You are many things, but you are not a hypocrite. I know for a fact that you’ve had sex at a wedding.”

“That’s different. It wasn’t _my_ wedding,” he argued. “And really, Pep? How do you know that?”

“I was your assistant for a _very_ long time,” she reminded, taking a sip of champagne. “And you have a habit of oversharing.”

Steve was positively scarlet, now. Natasha smirked at his complexion. “You know it’s bad luck to wear red at a wedding, right, Steve?”

From a few seats down, Natasha could have sworn she heard Clint snort a laugh.

 


End file.
